


escalation

by greymahariel (acceptnosubstitutes)



Series: command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Crush, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2862569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/greymahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the Iron Bull and the rest of the Chargers are off destroying Adamant’s walls, Krem and Lavellan keep each other company back at Skyhold. It only escalates from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	escalation

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, okay, so this happened. 'Tis the expanded version of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2801423/chapters/6330275), and if I want to call this a _drabble_ I will.
> 
> Slight spoilers for "Here Lies The Abyss" but you should expect "everyone dies" with DA. I seem pretty fond of giving Elijah a complex about Adamant, don't I? Krem/Lavellan is cute tho and fandom needs more of it, tho perhaps more fluffy and cute shit than this...
> 
> I've also never written shit like this before, so there's that too.

It’s just Krem and Lavellan for the night, both out of armor and into something softer. A fire rolls in the fireplace a few feet away, more than enough for keeping the entire tavern warm and toasty. Lavellan’s even forgone both boots and socks, curling his legs up under him in a semi-twisted position Krem winces to look at.

Bendy elves.

Krem runs a thumb around the rim of his mug, considering the elf who has been staring out into space for the past half-hour. He’s been silent, which is unusual. Quiet, is a given, more like short on words unless he has something to say, but Lavellan usually is doing something.

Humming. Fingers tap-tapping on some surface or another in a pattern only he knows.

Some sound, some noise.

But not tonight. Not after Adamant really, Krem supposes. It’s only been a few days, but they all see the effects. That much death...it’s done something to Lavellan.

He doesn’t smile at Josephine, lightly tease Cullen with some new (creative) innuendo, seems to be trying to keep away from Leliana completely. Even Cassandra can’t seem to get through to him.

So Krem’s not terribly surprised Bull asked him to stay behind, this time, while he and the other Chargers went ahead to tear down Adamant’s walls and kill off any demons left hanging around.

He likes Lavellan. Always has, almost since the first time he met him. There’s just something about Lavellan that is...endearing, he guesses, not knowing another word for it. The elf only has to tilt his head, lips curling into that lopsided smile like that, and it all punches Krem in the stomach how strong it is.

Worrying.

Krem clears his throat, taking a drink.

But that’s what he’s doing, Lavellan watching. For the advisors. For Bull. And for his own peace of mind.

The tavern behind them is slowing down for the night, its more regular patrons opting for tables in the shadowy, dark corners, leaving Krem and Lavellan one of the few still gathered near the fire.

It’s rather apparent Lavellan’s got a lot on his mind. He’s been chewing at his bottom lip for the better part of the time they’ve been there, slowly easing their way through what feels like a fourth of the tavern’s resources, but that’s probably just the alcohol talking.

What he actually comes out with is not, however, really what Krem was expecting.

He blinks at him, processing and reprocessing, just to be sure, what Lavellan just asked him.

“What Bull likes,” Krem says, slowly, but doesn’t see a change in Lavellan’s expression to indicate a joke, “in bed. Don’t you, ah, don’t you know that already?”

Lavellan scowls. He finally tears his attention back to Krem and the table, but his eyes drop to gazing into his drink soon after.

“I know what he’s told me. But it’s all focused on what he’s doing to _me_.”

Ah. He gets it, then. That’s a complicated one.

It’s not like there aren’t things Bull personally likes more than others, submissive but not subservient partners among the forefront, but Lavellan is right. He focuses on what he does for others, not what he likes done to himself or for himself.

Not like it’s ever just about the other person, but Bull never seems to have much trouble getting off however his partner wishes.

Still. There’s one thing.

Krem shifts in his seat, failing to hide a wince he knows Lavellan’s sharp eyes will undoubtedly pick out.

Lavellan is not by any means fragile, given he spends half his time, as a rogue, blowing through the battlefield like a, well, like a storm. He can and has taken even opponents the size of Iron Bull off their feet for one of the warriors to finish off, using their derision of his diminutive size and skill set to ambush them where they least expect it.

It makes Krem wonder sometimes, if Bull and Lavellan ever fought, for real, who would win. In any case, they’d completely demolish anything around them, for damn sure.

But Lavellan is thin. Slender. Small. Makes people forget those things more often than not, probably forgets himself, but still.

It makes Krem physically ache to imagine Bull doing that particular thing with Lavellan.

The elf pins him down with sharp eyes.

“Spit it out.”

“It’s not anything particularly out there, just,” Krem sighs, “you know he’s always holding back with you right?”

Lavellan’s lips twist in a grimace.

“Not like that, and you know it. He just needs,” how to say it, “a partner his size. More durable, than you or me.”

Lavellan looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. His mouth curves up for the first time that evening.

Krem socks a half-hearted punch at his shoulder.

“It’s Bull. You’ve seen him. You’ve _had_ him. But, he worries. About hurting people. It’s a thing of his.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Krem chuckles, flagging down a waitress for another round. There are perks to being personal friends with the Inquisitor, he supposes, watching Lavellan shrug and tell her to put it on his tab.

She looks uncertain, at least until Lavellan’s face softens and he smiles at her.

That smile. Rarely does Krem hear any dirty words slung at the elf’s back anymore, at least in Skyhold, about his heritage, and that may be because Skinner has knives and a worrying fascination with them, but Lavellan’s charmed as many people by being the complete opposite of the Dalish savage they thought him to be.

When the waitress leaves, however, the smile slides into something contemplative.

Krem groans, knowing that look. It means nothing good for his continually diminishing sanity, that’s what it means.

He’s almost starting to wonder if it really _was_ a smart idea, joining up with this Inquisition...

“What?”

It’s not a smile, not exactly, that curves the Inquisitor’s mouth as he drops an elbow to the table top and settles his chin on the palm of his hand. Krem can’t help being faintly wary anyway.

“Krem,” Lavellan says.

Something’s different about his voice. Dropped lower, huskier. That always present rasp just a little more pronounced.

Krem shifts again. For a completely different reason.

Something brushes across the top of his hand. He startles, looking up at Lavellan when he realizes it’s the elf’s nimble fingers. Is greeted with a lopsided smile and hooded eyes that… _do_ things to the pit of his stomach he’s half sure Bull might at least punch him in the face for, if he knew.

Pull it, but still punch him.

The horned giant’s far more than just “fuck buddies” with Lavellan, no matter what he says. Besides that, he’s protective, seems to have taken on a personal bodyguard position without being asked.

Krem - even knowing Bull as long as he does, as close as he does, doesn’t want to cross that line and find out after the fact.

He’s also pretty sure Lavellan is taunting him on purpose, those sharp, sharp eyes dancing with some amount of amusement.

“Ass,” Krem huffs.

He doesn’t resist the fingers that interlace with his, however, curling their hands together. Lavellan’s eyes follow the movement almost as much as he does.

Well, shit.

The elf turns over their clasped hands, tapping Krem’s palm with a finger.

“Krem,” he asks, “how would you like to seduce Bull with me?”

Well. _Shit_.

How does one say no to that grin, those warm eyes, and the fingers tracing vallaslin patterns on the back of his hand, when he looks like he wants to eat a guy alive?

The fun way?

-

“No.”

Bull’s default answer, when the two of them corner him a few days later and present the idea. Not that they’d expected different.

He flat out glares at Lavellan, hands gripping the handle of the ax laid out across his lap tighter. He’d been sharpening the blade when they found him, but the whetstone sits beside him now, forgotten.

“Do you even know what you’re asking me for?”

“Yes.” Lavellan doesn’t miss a beat.

Krem shrugs when the glare shifts to him. Very few people can resist Lavellan when he really wants something. They’re pretty sure he’s unaware of the effect he has on just about everyone, which is really actually a blessing.

Bull licks his lips slowly, eyes traveling up and down Lavellan’s body. Krem knows what he sees. Saw it himself, though Bull can probably pick out the specific breaking points.

A hundred and one ways to hurt Lavellan, and Bull wouldn’t even break a sweat.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath.

“This is a bad idea,” he says, but it’s not as strong as it could be.

But it’s not end of story, and that means something. He’s worried, but. Considering.

Bull tries another track.

“I told you, you don’t gotta worry about me.”

Lavellan just widens his stance, crossing his arms, and Bull’s eyes move along the lines of his body before returning to his face.

“Maybe not,” Lavellan agrees, “But I can.”

Bull is quiet for a while, before he sets his weapon aside and leans forward. Obediently, Lavellan lets him pull the elf to him by his wrists. One of the qunari’s large hands is more than enough to encompass both with room to spare. Bull wraps his fingers around them, and squeezes, digging into Lavellan’s skin.

He drops it as soon as Lavellan winces, taking both of his wrists in either hand, much gentler.

“You are,” he says, bringing up one of the elf’s hands and kissing the palm, “the most fucking, annoyingly beautiful thing I’ve ever met.”

He says it with the solemnity of a priest, and Lavellan proves it in example with a cheeky grin.

Mouth still pressed against Lavellan’s hand, nuzzling into it, he glances up at him again.

“You’re serious about this.”

“Deadly.”

“Krem?”

Krem knows Bull is looking to him for one last chance to sink this ship in the water. Maybe tag team Lavellan until he’s too high on the adrenaline singing through his veins, the mouths and hands pushing him toward absolute incoherence, to think of something like this again.

So, with a completely straight face, Krem brings his hands up to the sides of his face, extending the pointer fingers skyward.

“Horns up,” he says, “chief.”

-

“So,” Bull says, taking a seat on Lavellan’s bed, arms crossed, “the both of you.”

There are new rules to figure out; even as much as Bull knows Krem, he’ll still ask. What Krem likes and doesn’t like, what absolutely not to do.

Probably ask Lavellan too, even though they know each other’s preferences, by now.

“Is that a problem?”

Bull shrugs. “Not in so many words. I’m just curious. When did this happen?”

Krem goes to say about a few days ago, tops, surprised when Lavellan takes over instead.

“A while,” he says, ignoring the look Krem’s giving him, “I _did_ ask him.”

Bull chuckles, leaning forward. “I don’t doubt you, Lav.”

Some of the tension eases out of the elf’s frame. He always seems ready to be punished, if that’s the right word for it. Like everything he does is wrong and someone is going to hit him for it. Some have noticed - Cullen, Cassandra, maybe Leliana - but only Bull knows how to confront it without making Lavellan feel cornered.

What it’s about, no one asks. It’ll come out on its own or it won’t. Lavellan’s choice.

“Right,” Bull says, amusement dissipating, “then down to the nit and gritty. What do you want, exactly?”

Lavellan’s already made it, bluntly in fact, clear, but he doesn’t so much as roll his eyes while he repeats it.

“I want you to take me,” he says, “for real. Without holding back.”

Bull’s mouth tightens, but he turns to Krem, asking the same question.

Truth be told, Krem isn’t really sure what he’s doing here, other than along for moral support or some such. But now that he is...he doesn’t want to leave.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “watching maybe. I -”

It’s Lavellan, interlocking their hands again, that gives him the courage to push on. Bull’s eyes catch the movement, but they seem thoughtful.

“I just want to be there,” Krem says, “in the middle. Just...let the rest of it go as it will.”

It’s not the tight, clear cut rules Krem knows Bull likes best, but he nods. Can work with it.

“Lucky this bed is big enough for several people, little elf,” Bull says, tugging Lavellan to him first.

But Lavellan never lets go of Krem’s hand, so he’s pulled along for the ride. They do separate at some point, Bull shifting up to sit against the headboard, Lavellan across his lap. Krem takes a seat on the bed in between the elf’s legs, very aware of the warm presence one of them makes where it rests against his back.

Bull always did like to take his time stripping his partners. The thin, green suit Lavellan uses more like pajamas isn’t the same as the complicated straps and ties that keep Lavellan’s armor on, the quite volatile flasks hissing with demon essence from rocking against each other, along with the numerous other assorted tools of his trade, but it still works.

He works open Lavellan’s collar first, fingers nimbly unbuttoning it as far as it goes, mouth too preoccupied with Lavellan’s neck to watch what he’s doing. The elf closes his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose, it gentling out again in a sigh.

Then come the sleeves, which get pushed up the elf’s arms. Bull smooths his hands back down from elbow to wrist, encircling them with gentle pressure at the pulse points.

Finally, he shifts the shirt right off him and, as Lavellan arcs up to help, Krem can’t help the way his eyes fixate on the skin revealed. He’s never actually seen Lavellan with his shirt off, he realizes, and rather glad that he hasn’t.

The odd, absent-minded daydream he has about the Inquisitor now and then is intense enough without actual knowledge. But that changes, doesn’t it, after this?

Lavellan’s covered in scars, ugly little scrapes to the full on gash striped down his left front side from where a high dragon tried to cleave him in half with her tail. His armor absorbed most of the blow, but it tore, and left a bloody scar.

But they’re more like accents than detractions, crisscrossing brown skin in lighter and darker shades. Krem finds himself really wanting to trace a few of them. With his tongue.

Doesn’t really know how to ask for it. Or even if he should.

Lavellan nudges him in the hip with his heel. Oh, right, the middle. Strong arms encircle Krem, pulling him back against Bull’s chest. It also lets Bull lean in and nip his ear.

“So, Krem,” he purrs, and Krem shivers, “horns up, hmm?”

Oh, he’ll pay for that, later. Krem grins anyway, leans up and snags one of Bull’s horns, using it to pull him down into a kiss.

When they pull away, Lavellan’s in between Krem’s legs, just watching them. Krem can’t read him, but Lavellan doesn’t resist being pulled in, though he comes to a halt on his knees almost sitting in Krem’s lap.

They leave his shirt on, after Krem hesitates and eventually shakes his head, but that doesn’t stop Lavellan from smoothing his palms down his chest. His expression doesn’t change, even where his hands ride up and then back down instead of level all the way. Krem relaxes, then, under his warmth.

Until the elf’s hands hit his waistband. They dance along the edge, never quite dipping below the cloth of his pants, but Krem can tell he wants to.

He can’t help it. He tenses, shying away, and Bull behind him grasps him a little tighter, meeting eyes with Lavellan.

“‘Lijah,” he says, half warning.

Lavellan’s eyes flick up to meet Krem’s, asking without words.

Krem swallows hard, voice cracking when he speaks.

“I don’t have a -”

But Lavellan surges forward, swallowing the rest of that sentence in a deep kiss. He slips a hand into the short hair at the base of Krem’s neck, the thumb of the other hand trailing butterfly light paths across his cheek and down his throat before Krem catches him in an iron tight grip. Krem’s other arm wraps around Lavellan’s back, smushing the elf right up flush against him, fingers clenching and unclenching weakly in his shirt.

Bull sits back, watching them. Swallows a bit.

“Well, _shit_ ,” he mutters.

They part, both breathing hard, and in Krem’s case, somewhat raggedly. He blinks rapidly, eyes wider than before.

“I know,” Lavellan says, voice soft. Fingers dance that edge again. “Let me?”

Bull just taps his horns when Krem looks to him for direction, smirking at the human’s scowl. Serves him right, for earlier.

With Lavellan, not trusting himself with words, Krem just nods. He moves back when Lavellan grins and rolls over and up onto his knees. Krem finds himself with his back against Bull, leaning back as the qunari dips down.

This, kissing Bull, it’s an easy thing. Easy to open up to him, trust his direction. Close his eyes.

But they have a third, now. And Krem is reminded when Lavellan brushes against his leg. Startled, Krem drops out of the kiss, blinking at the elf.

He’s humming, one of the songs of his people, and one he knows Krem likes. Said it was fragmented, unfinished or lost more like, but by the rise and fall of Lavellan’s voice, Krem refuses to consider it anything other than beautiful.

Not though, to his face. That would be. Embarrassing. To say the least.

Lavellan glances up at him, fingers at Krem’s sides, asking without asking. He smiles at him, still hissing out a short breath while Lavellan eases his pants down his hips. Krem feels like he should say something. Doesn’t know what. Bites at his lip.

Which is enough time for Lavellan’s gaze to shift a bit wolfish, grin full of teeth, and dip between his legs. There’s no hesitation. Within moments Lavellan’s questing fingers and clever tongue have Krem gasping, reaching back for Bull who unites their fingers together, and plunging the other hand into Lavellan’s hair.

He grasps a good mass of it when the elf does...something, twists his tongue and pushes forward with two fingers. Krem doesn’t mean to pull on Lavellan’s hair, but the elf hums when he does, the sound spiking the heat slowly building in Krem’s stomach.

Okay. So, yeah, maybe _some_ of those daydreams indulged a hair pulling kink.

“Fuck,” Krem breathes out, squirming in place.

Bull whistles lowly, grinning at the glare Krem tilts his head back to deliver. All Bull does, though, is flick Krem in the forehead.

Absolutely ridiculous.

“He’s good,” he gets out, between gasps, fingers tightening in Lavellan’s hair to the point of pain before he remembers himself, “fuck. You weren’t kidding.”

“Never kid,” Bull reminds him. And then grey fingers are threading through red too, over Krem’s hand.

Lavellan pulls back briefly, angling his head up at them. As neither bother to let go of his hair, it forces his head to the side, presenting his neck and throat like a prize.

Bull growls behind Krem at the sight of it, and then they’re pulling. It’s gotta hurt, but Lavellan moves with their hands, smiles.

“No offense,” he says, nudging Krem, “but I kinda want to push you off the bed now.”

Krem bats his hand away, ignores his snort of amusement, and yanks Lavellan closer. Keeps his hand in his hair, holding him that way, and latches his mouth on a particularly inviting spot right in the crook of his neck.

The elf arcs up into his grasp, voice failing him as Krem switches from sucking in what will be a fairly impressive mark the next morning, if he has anything to say about it, and bites down. Doesn’t break the skin, teases it with the edges of his teeth, and is rewarded by the shuddering moan that rocks through Lavellan’s body.

“Talking about me behind my back,” Lavellan rasps, eyes shutting with another groan.

They flicker open in time to catch Bull’s grin. The, “Only the good shit. Now get back to work.”

Krem parts reluctantly from what may have just become his favorite part of Lavellan, and the elf straightens, rubbing a couple fingers into the spot he vacated.

Lavellan sloppily salutes them and licks at the edge of one corner of his mouth, tongue catching some glistening, clear substance that makes Krem suck in a sharp breath.

That...That’s…

He resettles himself between Krem’s legs and the human’s hands clench in his hair again, the elf’s sharp teeth against his inner right thigh forcing a surprised yelp from his lips.

“Fair’s fair,” Lavellan murmurs against his skin. His tongue flicks out to soothe the ache.

And Bull just laughs.

Krem hates them both. Briefly. Then Lavellan spreads his legs just a little wider, enough he can shift forward and _really_ get his face in there, Bull swallowing the cries Lavellan’s wicked tongue forces out of Krem.

It’s too much, far too soon, and Krem tries to warn Lavellan but the elf just raises a hand in a thumb’s up gesture. Krem shakes his head, chuckling, after he can breathe again.

Lavellan comes up with his lips still shiny, but before he can lick them clean, Bull hooks two fingers in his collar and drags him up for a rough kiss, tongue pushing deep into his mouth after his lieutenant’s taste.

There’s something to be said about being pressed in the middle of the two of them, but Krem extracts himself and rolls to the side, so Bull can pull Lavellan in fully.

Lavellan’s breathing hard when Bull lets him up for air, but something else glints in his eyes, speeding it up even faster.

“All right,” Bull says.

He pulls the elf clear off the bed and into his lap, back against his chest. Spends some time imprinting a dark mark of his own into Lavellan’s neck, right above Krem’s. Draws it out until Lavellan’s groans match his squirms.

“Doing this?” Lavellan questions, hoarsely, looking up at him.

Bull shrugs, but it’s far from disinterested.

“Doing this. But you will be prepared. No objections.”

But it’s Krem who speaks up, avoiding Bull’s raised eyebrow. He nudges at Lavellan’s legs until he opens them up so he can sit between them.

“Let me?” Krem asks, echoing the elf previously.

Lavellan nods, brow furrowing when Krem reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Krem spends some time rubbing his thumb over the elf’s pulse point there, and won’t look up at either of them.

“There’s something. Something I want to try with you.”

Bull stiffens, the fingers of one hand curling into the bed in a rather harsh grip, before he relaxes.

He knows.

Krem’s shared this particular fantasy with him before, not that he and Bull could ever really pull it off safely, but he never mentioned it was about the _Inquisitor_. Exactly because of Bull’s reaction.

“Okay?”

Krem draws in a breath. Lavellan doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.

So he shows him. Krem presses an open palm to one of Lavellan’s. The human’s hand is just slightly larger, wider, and thicker in the fingers. Krem brings their hands down into Lavellan’s lap, and leaves them there, pressed together, until Lavellan _really_ gets it.

Lavellan lets go of a breath in a rough exhale.

“Oh.”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Krem says, drops the connection almost immediately. But he can’t, he can’t quite disguise that thread of _want_ in his voice.

Lavellan leans in, kissing him again, and slowly.

“Okay,” he breathes, against Krem’s mouth.

And Krem startles, enough he jerks away. He didn’t just -

“I can’t say I’ve ever had _that_ done to me before,” Lavellan chuckles at himself, smile wry, “but I’m not. I’m not adverse.”

Then Lavellan quirks a lopsided grin at them both.

“‘Sides, kills two birds with one stone, eh?”

Bull laughs, sounding surprised. He ruffles Lavellan’s hair. Practical. Of course he’d approve. Since he’s closer, Bull leans over and opens one of the night side table’s drawers.

Ever since Bull and Lavellan started this relationship of theirs, they’ve accumulated a number of creams, salves, and Maker knows what else. He retrieves two, small jars, and tosses them both to Krem.

Lavellan’s eyes watch the transfer, gaze unreadable. He stays silent.

“At least one and a half,” Bull tells him, dropping open mouthed kisses along his collarbone. “Remember. You proposed this. You still agree to _my_ rules.”

Lavellan laughs at the reminder, but subdued. Still, he shrugs, easily shucking his pants and nodding at Krem when he pauses, waiting for it.

Krem takes a deep breath. Right, then.

They begin.

-

Krem spends a good amount of time coating each finger he eases into Lavellan, thickly, generously. He takes two easily, after a moment of initial discomfort, watching Krem with half lidded eyes and drowsy attention as the human slides his fingers in and out, curling each to the second knuckle, slowly dragging them back out. Over and over.

Lavellan’s eyes snap open at three and he grimaces, shifting awkwardly. Krem stops with him, but Lavellan wordlessly shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says. He swallows when his voice comes out uneven, until it’s more level. “Just. Slower.”

Krem nods. Bull takes up tangling his fingers in Lavellan’s hair, curling a section of dark red around one of them and tugging every so often before releasing it. Krem wonders for a brief moment what Lavellan would look like with curly hair, then shakes his head and lowers his gaze, or he’ll never get on with this.

There’s just...something about it. Lavellan had been good to him, truly, but he wasn’t completely relaxed until right now. Krem shifts a little, old aches and pains from numerous battles subsiding to barely there pinpricks as he goes about his task.

He pushes in slow, deep, pausing again when Lavellan stirs. The elf rolls his head back onto Bull’s chest, a wordless murmur of pleasure escaping his lips.

That. That’s exactly what Krem wants.

Emboldened, he returns to the minty, earthy smelling substance and works Lavellan up to four, pushing in until they all disappear completely. His thumb, braced against Lavellan’s inner thigh, catches the tremble that rolls through the elf. But Lavellan just exhales a shaky sigh, and stills.

Krem continues.

He stops at the end of his fingers, not exactly sure Lavellan wants or is able to take more, given the scrunched up expression on his face, the sweat beading across his forehead.

But all five make Lavellan arc up, feline like, until Krem can pick out individual ribs under his taunt skin. His mouth drops open, lets out a low whine, and he repeats one word, muttered under his breath like a mantra.

Krem leans in, finally making it out.

 _More_.

His hand slips in, up to the wrist, without him really realizing it. Lavellan groans low in his throat, rolling his body with it, pushing back into Bull who gently eases him back down.

It’s - it’s, Maker, is it warm, the walls of Lavellan’s body pressing in on Krem’s hand to a point it’s almost unbearable.

He curls his hand into a fist, slowly, and Lavellan is swearing at him, or at least seems to be with some vigor, in a language Krem doesn’t understand. Bull catches his eyes and mouths ‘elvish’ to which Krem shakes his head, but smiles. 

Whatever he’s saying, the words come faster and faster, tumbling into each other until the gibberish to Krem’s ears is probably gibberish in reality. Lavellan’s hips jerk with each flex, and Bull reaches down to steady them. Unable to move, Lavellan’s reduced to harsh panting and an unbroken whine.

At least until Bull puts his other hand to good use.

“You - you _evil_ -”

Whatever Lavellan was trying to say gets lost when he throws back his head and cries out, body tensing and clenching so hard around Krem’s hand he might well follow.

Krem eases out slowly, in inches, much to Lavellan’s half-murmured, sleepy protests. He leaves the two to the bed, Bull murmuring something low that’s obviously meant for Lavellan’s ears alone, heading for the wash basin a few feet away. Mind reeling.

Never, in his wildest dreams (and he’s pretty damn creative), did he imagine he might actually...with _Lavellan_...and the Iron Bull right there all the way through it. It’s enough to make a man cry.

But he sucks it up, pressing close to Lavellan as he opts for a chair near the bed.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his ear, and then collapses into the seat.

If Lavellan truly means to let Bull take him, as hard and as fast as he’s willing, he’ll need room. A lot of room.

Lavellan pokes at Bull’s eye patch with a fingertip.

“You thought I’d forget,” the elf sing-songs, grinning widely.

“Hoped,” Bull corrects, sighing.

But he makes a gesture at Krem and catches the now half-empty pot he throws him. They’d gone through one and a half, as instructed.

At least they can follow _some_ rules.

Bull pauses, hands on either side of Lavellan’s face, once he’s discarded his pants and slicked himself up even more.

“Are you _sure_?"

Lavellan avoids words, reaching up and grabbing onto Bull’s horns. He just smooths his hands down them, up and down, easy pace, palm flat and grip strong. 

Bull lowers his head to give him easier access. 

“Fucker,” he says, when he can manage to pull back. 

Lavellan smiles, eyes closing. But when Bull finally does move, it’s without warning. He slides a pillow under the elf’s hips and enters him in one, clean stroke. 

Given Lavellan and Krem’s previous activities, Lavellan is relaxed enough it only sounds like the air is punched out of his lungs rather than torn from them. 

“Getting slow in your old age,” Lavellan rasps, struggling to lie there and not curl up into a ball like his instincts are screaming, “or waiting for a written invitation?” 

Bull just hums at him, not rising to the bait. His eyes are closed, and his head tilted to the side. 

Just taking it in. 

Krem nods. A _long_ time. 

And then he moves. 

It takes him a moment or two to build up to a pace that has Lavellan breathing a little raggedly, and a little more to steady them out so it’s hard, and fast, but not brutal. 

He’s still pushing Lavellan’s limits, albeit asked to by said elf himself. Lavellan’s hands start to twitch where they lay, slowly pushing into the sheets and back. They curl and flatten on top of them. Then dig in. 

Bull slows as Lavellan’s pants turn an edge painful, but he gets a hand digging into the meaty upper portion of his arm, and a snarl. The faint impression of an exasperated smile flits across his lips, but he pulls Lavellan closer. Widens the stance of Lavellan’s legs, and looks up at Krem. 

It’d be easier, and quicker, if Lavellan wasn’t sliding all over the place. And Krem can distract him from the pain. 

The human takes up Bull’s previous position at the head of the bed, back against the headboard, and Lavellan’s head at the base of his crossed legs. 

Bull returns to Lavellan without needing prompting. He shifts the elf just a few inches to the left, so the new angle he hits him at has Lavellan gasping, hands scrambling at the edges of Krem’s leg until the human interlaces them together. 

Lavellan’s grasp tightens vise-like, and Krem winces. 

Bull doesn’t like to admit, Krem’s aware, that he needed this, but the shortness of his breath, the way his body shudders with each movement, muscles twisting and bulging, betrays him. 

Lavellan, much as his bright eyes stare up at Bull wide and unfocused, also manages to seem a little smug. 

Brat. 

But the elf digs his feet into the bed, and between that and Krem, they provide enough resistance to encourage Bull to snap his hips forward harder, repeatedly. The burn of working so hard races up his spine, electric, but that must be nothing to what Lavellan’s feeling. 

He’s given up controlling his face, somewhere between a grimace and a fierce, brutal demand Bull _pick up the pace already_. 

And he tries, harder than Krem figures he would, before he has to stop, growling a frustrated sigh. 

“I can’t get the angle right.” 

Krem chews on his bottom lip a moment, then leans forward and helps Lavellan up onto his knees. He’s not going to last long, the way he’s shaking, the way movement makes his spine jerk in little, erratic movements. But he won’t have to, if Bull can end this quick and hit it just right… 

Lavellan’s arms still buckle when he does, but in sliding forward, he forces Bull in at another angle and depth entirely, one that drives a low wail from his gut and it’s the pickup of his breath, the ragged wet edges behind each like hiccups that makes Bull pick him up and position him over his lap. 

Krem licks his lips. He isn’t really going to… 

But he does. He brings the elf down, _hard_ , one last time, burying himself and driving his teeth into Lavellan’s neck. Lavellan goes stiff as a board, his wordless cry lost amid the noise of his roar, loud and dragon-like. 

Bull comes down slowly, slumping against Lavellan’s shoulder while the elf twitches randomly, barely seeming to react to anything around him. 

“That,” he tells him, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses into his skin despite himself, “is why we don’t do that regularly.” 

Krem leaves the bed to fetch a wet rag and towel. By the time he’s returned, Bull’s pulled out and is cradling Lavellan in his arms. He takes the rag from Krem with an exhausted upward lift of his head, and cleans them both up. 

When he’s finished, Bull wraps Lavellan up in a fresh sheet from one of the bedside table’s drawers, shoving the one with the wet spot off the bed. 

Lavellan makes a happy noise and curls right up to his chest, like always. Bull hesitates, but brushes the hair off his forehead and kisses him there. 

Krem pauses, redressed where the others haven’t bothered, eyeing the door. Should he say something? And what? ‘Thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm, see you in the tavern tomorrow?’ Does he just leave? But that seems cold. 

“Krem,” Lavellan calls out to him, turning puppy dog eyes on him no one his age should possess much less so effectively use. 

Damnit. Should have escaped when he could. 

When Krem slips back into bed, Lavellan detaches from Bull and curls up around him like an especially affectionate mabari, face snuggling up in the crook of his neck. 

He presses a small kiss there and Krem can feel the slow spreading smile against his skin. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Lavellan says. 

He doesn’t specify, and maybe he’s really just happy about the sex (which Krem wouldn’t put past him, really) but the elf clings tighter to him, reaching down to tangle one pair of their hands together. 

Like a survivor clinging to a lone, floating piece of dead wood in the world’s darkest storm. 

“Not regularly,” Lavellan murmurs, reaching back to grab at Bull’s hand, so he won’t feel left out, “but we can. Sometimes. I want to, again.” 

He’s asleep within seconds, leaving Bull staring down at him. Lost for words. 

Krem laughs and reaches over, carefully avoiding jostling Lavellan who refuses to let go of him, playfully punching Bull’s arm. 

“I’ve created a monster.” 

Bull shakes his head, huffs. He moves closer to Lavellan, large arm encircling the both of them followed by the soft warmth of a blanket pulled over them all. 

“Think he was _born_ that way.” 


End file.
